Electricity
by West of California
Summary: This isn't the first time Shizuo's been pinned against a wall by Izaya, but this time's different... something's different... A confusing encounter in an alleyway leaves Shizuo wondering what, exactly, just happened. Shizuo Point of View, Shizaya oneshot.


**A/N: I know, I know... it's been too long since I put up a oneshot. There's a fic that I've been writing for months, though, that I just finished recently, and I took some much-needed down time. Sorry! That's over now, though, and it's good to be back! D**

**Well, Shizaya won as the couple you guys wanted most to see a oneshot on next, so here you all are ;) I'll reset the poll, make sure you go vote so I know what you want to see next!**

**This took me an unnecessarily long amount of time to write; maybe it's the present tense, or perhaps I just fail at writing from Shizuo's perspective *shrugs* either way, it's by no means the best oneshot I've put out for this fandom - in fact, I think it may be the worst XD - but I figured that I owed you guys something! I'll do a better job next time (lol).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara, unfortunately. Why?**

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My heart is beating like a wild war drum, pounding against the walls of my chest at a hundred miles an hour. My throat is constricted, I can't breath, can't even think to try; I can't think at all. Surely I'm sick. There's something wrong with me, I can't move, it's like I can barely see, the adrenaline has whipped the thoughts in my head into an incomprehensible mush, and yet there he is, clear as day. His messy brunette hair, the smirk, the murderous eyes hiding behind _my_ blue shades – how did he get those?

All I know is that one minute, I had him strangled, but I had to let go, I _had_ to; those eyes, when he'd turned on me, that expression, they looked torn... tormented, almost. But... it was the _flea!_ And then the look was gone and he was loose and the next thing I knew a knife was against my throat, more than capable of parting my skin in thin, clean line.

This is hardly the first time I've been forced against a wall by him, but this time is different, something's different...

And before I can think, move, even draw the quick, shuddering breath my lungs are screaming for so desperately, I feel the ghost of a touch glance against my lips, and my frantic heart abruptly comes to a complete stop. I-it's... _his_ li...!

There it is again, just the tiniest degree harder. He lingers, his breath coming in warm, inconsistent huffs through his barely-parted lips. "I'm sorry," he whispers, so quiet that I wouldn't believe he'd really said it if I hadn't felt his lips move against mine lightly as he spoke. He – _Izaya_ – apologized?

Suddenly, the knife is pulled away, shoved into the recesses of his deep coat pockets, I'm sure. His free hands now take up a loose grip on my vest, weak, but almost... needy. A pleading expression is etched into his features, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was shaking. He stares up at me with wide eyes guarded by my shades, like he's begging me not to move, not to stop him. As if I could.

He tilts his head the smallest bit and presses his lips against mine once more, and I feel something new; an electric shock coursing through my body, racing down my spine for the most minute fraction of a second before it's gone. He pulls back, and I feel his grip on my vest tighten even as his frame trembles. He's as terrified by all this as I am, though he was the one to initiate it. And, somehow, with the massive amount of strength constantly at my disposal, I simply don't have the ability to raise an arm and shove him away.

He returns his mouth to mine, and I feel that tiny shock again, though less so this time – he's being hesitant. Slowly, however, he presses up on his toes, and for whatever reason, I can't help but turn my head a bit so he can find a less awkward angle for all this. One hand of his leaves my black vest as his garnet eyes flutter closed, instead snaking its way upward and curling into my hair, fitting its thin appendages between the wavy strands. ...Why am I not resisting this...?

Just as my heart rate begins to stutter down to a livable pace, something moist prods at my mouth. I inhale sharply. Is that a blush rushing into my cheeks? Damn! The gasp, it turns out, is enough to let him in, and he ventures forward. An involuntary squirm wriggled through me as he licks delicately at the roof of my mouth, careful to avoid a direct confrontation with my tongue just yet.

Instead of a single electric spark, I feel like a thousand are running madly through my veins all at once, an animated thrum settling into the rhythm of his movements as he turns his neck and sucks on my lower lip, growing more intimate. His other hand is busily working the buttons out of their holes on my vest, and, to my shock, I find that I can finally move my limbs, the hum of energy warming them and making them bendable. The only action they can seem to perform, however, is to assist in the removal of my bartender jacket.

It's a shame, really, to see such a nice piece of apparel thrown onto the dirty, dingy concrete of an alleyway, immediately soiled by a trickle of an unknown fluid leaking steadily through an obtrusive pipe from a brick-faced, meaningless building, but it no longer matters as the smooth muscles of his neck allow his head to arc, smooth and gentle as the movements of a snake, as he further explores my mouth.

Finally, slowly, I feel myself responding, and it crosses the forefront of my thoughts for the first time that, somewhere in my mind, I'm controlling my own actions, and the realizations that follow grow progressively more confusing, more disappointing, more dark. Why... what am I doing? Is this... I can't want this! This is wrong, bad, warped. I _hate _Izaya, and he hates me! Or... so I thought... but here he is, ki...ki-kissing me...

I want to cringe at the word. That forbidden word, how it leaves a taste like a bad cough syrup in my mouth. Kiss. We can't be, something so unwelcome, in this case, so _vile_, us? No. Never. This never should have happened...!

As I become aware of the broken taboo, anger builds within me, something I cannot control. My mind, seconds before so full of buzzing, baffled thoughts and feelings, is now almost entirely blank, focused on one objective: stop this. Stop whatever the hell it is that's going on _right now_ and try to make sure it won't happen again. Because I don't even know how I'm going to handle it after just this one time.

I jerk away, slapping him across the face cruelly, unflinchingly, and breaking away from his grip, moving several feet away as he staggers back in shock, cradling his injured cheek as a bright red mark begins to bloom. He gasps and stumbled, landing on the hard, cracked concrete, shock written plainly across his face. "Shizu-chan," he mumbles, but doesn't complete the thought. Or maybe he just wanted to say my name. Whatever.

"Don't touch me!" I bark when he lifts a hand, and he immediately retracts it. I seethe, panting heavily as the fury continues to grow inside of me, a swirling ball of energy in uncontainable turmoil. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to _kill_ him this time!

But... he looks up at me, and his lips aren't sporting a cocky smirk, nor is one eyebrow raised in arrogance. Instead, the brunette hair is tossed and had fallen out of place, hanging in a thin, sweeping fan over his left eye, and his lips are open slightly in shock. Vermilion eyes are wide, scared but pleading, and an arm is raised frailly in a defensive position. He looks so... fragile.

I shake myself. No time for this, no time... and I pull back, a growl rumbling low in my throat, eyes narrowed in rage and fist balled so tight the knuckles are the color of newly-fallen snow, and I don't give myself time to think, don't give myself time to ponder the consequences of my decision; I simply throw.

My fist splits the concrete.

Izaya, who has scrunched himself into a ball, anticipating impact, cracks one eye open. "Shizu...chan...?"

I can't do it. Something about that... look, that... _kiss_, I can't hit him, I can't make myself. Seeing this, he uncurls himself, eyebrows raised in surprise. Quickly, his expression darkens, and I can't place what exactly upsets me about this. He sneers. "Weak like always, Shizu-chan. Still can't quite get me, can you?" He pushes himself up as I watch with the eyes of a wary predator unsure of whether or not it has any hold over its prey. Then I realize that he's going to retrieve the blue glasses that had skittered away when he'd been knocked to the ground.

He walks, or rather, storms back to me, an unreadable expression on his face. His footing is unsteady, betraying his facade and revealing that he is, in fact, unsteady himself; it's surely hard for him to keep himself in check. I stand at my full height once more when he is only inches from me, and, suddenly, the glasses are jammed onto my face, shoved coarsely along the bridge of my nose. I step back, surprised, and grimace. We stare each other down, and I look endlessly into his cold, angry eyes, and before I can stop him, he's walking away. I raise a hand and turn, but he's walking out of the alleyway, head down and fingers in his pockets, likely curled as a precaution around his blade. The white light filtering in from the main street gives his form a slight glow as it travels toward the sidewalk lining the road filled with rushing cars and city lights.

My legs are suddenly weak. Why? I can't reach a conclusion before I collapse. Izaya... just kissed me. He just kissed me, and when I rejected him, he didn't laugh, didn't tell me it was all a trick, a game, a lie he'd created to mess with my head. He'd seemed worried, even scared, and genuinely hurt when I'd moved him none-too-gently away, and now he's leaving, and I don't know how much longer I'll be haunted by the looming thought of exactly why. If... whatever it is is real, how long and how much has he been hiding?

No, no. It's Izaya, I remind myself. Of course he's trying to mess with you. He's just... he's a good actor.

And evidently, I'm the opposite, because I doubt anyone will buy it if I walk away from here and pretend like I didn't feel an excited, intrigued, elated electric spark shoot through me when his lips met mine.

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**A/N: Why do I give these things such cute endings? Yes, anything that's not super depressing, ironic, or funny somehow comes across as cute to me XD maybe it's just my high aversion to fluff talking, yah?**

**Review? The button tastes like chocolate when you click it... I PROMISE. *seriousfaceplz***


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